


Crash and Burn

by pieckaboo



Category: Tekken
Genre: Asuka Kazama doesn't have time for your bullshit!, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Hwoarang is just naturally drawn to Kazamas but he's in denial, Martial Arts, Motorcycles, Not Canon Compliant, Rebellion, but it's not the main focus, cute first date idea: hand-to-hand combat, let's have some fun yo, or maybe it's a curse, the couples that get into street fights together stay together, the tournament is still a thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 03:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20481749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pieckaboo/pseuds/pieckaboo
Summary: When Hwoarang meets an equally hotheaded rebel with a mutual affinity for street fights and motorcycles, he has no clue what he's in for.Except maybe the time of his life.





	Crash and Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Wowee! My first tekken fanfic! I'd actually written this over a year ago, but the lack of Asuka/Hwo fics on this site had me at my limit sooooo I've come to christen the tag!  
I've been shipping these two since I was in middle school for duck's sake. (I can't be the only one??? Right???)  
Anyway, I have most of this fic already written out (about four chapters) but let me know what ya think!  
Read on and enjoy!

It’s not exactly love at first sight.

* * *

Hwoarang’s first thought when he hears his rival, Jin Kazama, has a cousin is far from polite.

_Shit. There’s more of ‘em?_

The King of Iron Fist Tournament had pitted him against newcomer, Asuka Kazama, for his third match, and while a fist to the face might not be the most formal of introductions, he can’t say that he wasn’t the slightest bit impressed by her strength.

She knew how to pack a punch; how to properly generate the right amount of torque with every meticulous swerve of her hips. There was something vaguely familiar about her technique, and although he’d known of her relation to Jin beforehand, he hadn’t expected her to wield similar move-sets as her cousin had in previous tournaments. Ironically enough, it gave him the advantage.

His distracted musings proved meddlesome during the match, but in the end his experience and a single leg hook throw was all that was needed to subdue his opponent and secure his position in the tournament.

Needless to say, Asuka was pissed.

His master, Baek Doo San, had always instilled upon him the virtue of humility. Win or lose, he expects his pupil to preserve his integrity. Uphold some semblance of dignity. Nevertheless, the reformation of his rebellious antics is a rather irksome undertaking.

Although it pains him, Hwoarang acts on that principle and helps a defeated Asuka up from the mat, offering to shake on it as a gesture of good sportsmanship.

“Good fight, kid,” he commends her as she regains her balance. “Still got a long way to go before you reach my level but at least there’s always the next tournament.”

Asuka slaps his hand away, her eyes glaring with murderous intent. She says nothing as she turns her back and storms off the arena.

Hwoarang watches her leave, feeling inexplicably confused.

He wonders if he’s destined to piss off every Kazama on the face of the earth.

* * *

He sees her again a month later – at a gas station at two in the morning.

Hwoarang already knows he’s in for it come sunrise at Baek’s dojo. It’s the first day of spring cleaning and, on top of the motherlode of chores he’s bound to be swamped with like a frantic maid, he has to instruct the children’s classes later that afternoon.

In short, he expects to get very little sleep before all the chaos, and very little time to recover from the inevitable wave of headaches. Probably shouldn’t have spent the previous night out drinking and wreaking havoc at his favorite watering hole, but he can bitch about his inhibitions later.

It’s late (or early), and his motorcycle needs gas.

At the pump, he hears what sounds like a scuffle and briefly surveys his surroundings. Nothing seems out of the ordinary at first, something he chalks up to exhaustion and his mind playing tricks on him. As he starts pumping gas, the muffled voices return, this time with a loud clash.

“There she is! That damn nosy kid! Get her!”

Hwoarang instantly jolts up and peers out into the darkness of the alleyway ahead, following the source of the ruckus like he’s in hot pursuit of a criminal.

The chase leads him to the most bizarre thing he’s ever seen at such ungodly hours of the night (technically morning), his heels buried deep in the dirt as his reflexes screech to a halt.

It’s _her_. Undeniably her.

Asuka readies herself in stance as she’s cornered by three rowdy-looking men, fists raised and an unimpressed scowl seared on her face. “Let’s get this over with,” she says, challenging them all at once.

Before Hwoarang can so much as blink, the three neighborhood bullies rush Asuka in lateral formation, encircling her like a pack of wolves coming in for the kill. They make the fatal mistake of underestimating her adeptness in handling confrontation – specifically her ability to break one’s jaw when threatened.

She evades the first goon with the swift shifting of her feet, plowing a steady jab into the second before tossing him over her shoulder as though he were no more than a sack of rice. With a smirk, she spins around and tackles the third goon into a headlock, his pathetic attempt at retaliation no match for her expert grappling.

Two down. One to go.

Asuka thrusts herself up and steadies her clenched fists, expecting to end this whole fiasco with one more knockout.

She’s spared the trouble entirely, her eyes wide in disbelief as Hwoarang topples the last of the goons over with a series of kicks soaring across his face, his midsection, and down to his kneecap. He strikes his heel at his jaw, the final blow rendering him unconscious.

It’s a mess, but it’s over.

With the neighborhood bullies down and out for the count, Hwoarang sweeps his gaze over their handiwork, his breathing erratic and heart still pounding his chest to a palpable cadence. He lives for this kind of thrill; the adrenaline rush from street-fights, the volatile sensation of unleashing kick after kick.

Satisfied, he looks up and sees Asuka, frozen in her tracks. Something stalls inside him when their eyes meet, and he finds himself momentarily speechless.

“What are you doing here?” Asuka asks, voice brazen and low. In spite of her tense demeanor, she lowers her fists, acknowledging all prior threats have been properly dealt with.

Hwoarang raises a brow in suspicion, stepping over the unconscious body at his feet. “I could ask you the same thing, Kazama,” he retorts. “Don’t you know better than to be wandering out this late by yourself?”

Asuka scoffs and dusts the small traces of dirt off her shoulders. She ignores his lecturing and walks past him, cutting off eye contact as a means of ending the conversation there.

“A simple ‘thanks’ would be nice,” Hwoarang calls after her, arms elevated in frustration.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Asuka fires back, not even sparing a second glance.

Maybe, Hwoarang thinks, he shouldn’t expect anything other than animosity.

But against his better judgment, he follows her.

“Who were those guys?” he probes. “What did they want from you?”

His answer comes in the form of her broken bike; one tire slashed, the handlebars bent out of shape, the chain tattered. It’s fucked up beyond repair.

“Dammit,” she mutters through grit teeth. She kicks at the contraption with an exasperated grunt, hands raking through her hair. “I can’t ride _this_.” Another grunt.

After brief contemplation, Asuka straightens her posture and lifts her head up with a single nod. Sporting a new look of resolve, she heads off for the road, settling for a long walk home.

“What the hell?” Hwoarang moves to block her path. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going home,” Asuka snorts. “Those jerks wrecked my bike so looks like I’m walking.”

“Why don’t you call someone?” Hwoarang asks, like it’s obvious.

Asuka narrows her eyes. “It’s _two in the morning_. I’m not gonna wake up my father for this. He has to get up early.”

“You can always call that cousin of yours,” Hwoarang quips, though he’s partly serious.

“Jin can eat dirt,” is all Asuka has to say about that.

At least there’s one thing they can agree on.

“You’re seriously going to walk home?” Hwoarang presses. “At this hour?”

Asuka folds her arms across her chest, her brows furrowed in disdain. “Why do you care so much?” she asks accusingly. She doesn’t give him the chance to respond. “And why did you have to butt in back there? Gloating at the tournament wasn’t enough for ya? You just had to swoop in so you could rub it in my face all over again, huh?”

Hwoarang has to do mental acrobatics to keep up with her. “Damn, woman! I was just trying to help!”

“Take my advice,” Asuka says, stern. “Don’t.”

For fuck’s sake, are all Kazamas like this?!

Hwoarang sags his shoulders, relenting - but not without offering one last recourse.

“Look,” he begins, expelling a deep breath, “You got two options here. You can walk home, alone, in the dark, and risk running into more trouble.” He pauses, like he’s waiting for her to pick up on the implication hanging from his words.

“Or…?” she asks, indulging him with a roll of her eyes.

“Or you can ride with me,” Hwoarang says, pointing out his motorcycle. “I’ll take you home. Either way, doesn’t make a difference to me. But you can’t say I didn’t warn you if some crazy shit goes down on your walk.”

Asuka’s stern expression dissolves at that, into something a bit more pensive. Then…

“It’s not exactly down the road,” she says, whether as a heads up or as an excuse he can’t tell.

“All the more reason,” Hwoarang insists. Better to be safe than sorry.

Asuka takes her time deliberating over the lesser of two evils, sizing his ride up as though whatever assessment she procures will be the deciding factor.

She takes one last look into the alleyway where the three goons had received the ass-whoopings of their lives, figuring she’s had enough fun doling out street justice for the day. She’s tired and just wants to go to bed already.

“Fine,” she concedes. “What’s the catch?”

The question startles Hwoarang. Previously, there _was_ no catch – but now that he thinks about it…

“The catch. Right.” Hwoarang plays it off, calm, cool, and collected. “You’ll have to come into the dojo next week.”

Asuka cringes. “To train?”

Hwoarang is only slightly offended by her repulsed look. “No. To help out with a few chores,” he replies. “It’s spring cleaning.”

“You’re… not… joking… are you?” She hopes he is, but she’s heard enough rumors about Baek Doo San and how the man is known for being a hardass – especially when it comes to his dojo.

Hwoarang shakes his head. “So how ‘bout it? Do we have a deal?”

Asuka reluctantly commits herself to the arrangement. “Yeah. Fine. Whatever,” she says, facepalming herself. “Just take me home.”

“You got it.” Hwoarang gestures for her to follow him, leading the way to his prized motorcycle.

He hops on and instructs her to settle behind him as his passenger. Asuka instinctively leans in, nuzzling her chest against his back, and wraps her arms around his waist for support.

She sighs at length, like she’s going to regret this but couldn’t be half-assed to care when she’s so physically and mentally drained.

Hwoarang revs up the engine, eager to feel the wind on his face.

“Ready?” he asks. Asuka gives a noncommittal hum as her response. “Hold on tight.”

They ride off into the night, under the stars and the dim glow of streetlights.

Hwoarang feels unabashedly invincible as he speeds down the freeway, opening the throttle wide like it’s his lifeline, his thoughts fading with the purr of the engine.

Asuka marvels at all the bright neon signs and billboards whizzing past in a blur, her eyes alight with innocent and child-like wonder.

It’s a taste of freedom just beyond their grasp.

And somehow, Hwoarang knows he’s on his way.

**Author's Note:**

> Asuka: (ง'̀-'́)ง 
> 
> Hwoarang: 😳😍


End file.
